


Got tight on absinthe last night -did knife tricks

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: When Tommy met Alfie AU [11]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: AU where everyone is happy and nothing hurts, And Alfie wonders how he got roped into this, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Tommy, Esme and Tommy are bros, Established Relationship, Heavy Drinking, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Series 01/02, The Shelby family is a disaster, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:04:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13247862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: The only thing more disastrous than Tommy Shelby, is an incredibly drunk Tommy Shelby. Alfie will make the rules from here on:1. Never drink absinthe. 2. Never drink with Esme. 3. Horse-hats are not a thing.In which Esme is a terrible influence, John is proud, Tommy can't hold his liquor and Alfie is a Very Good Boyfriend™





	Got tight on absinthe last night -did knife tricks

**Author's Note:**

> I lost my teeth and all my dignity when writing this. Both are overrated and I regret nothing. Happy reading! And kids, don't drink.

Alfie arrives in Birmingham a bit later than he anticipated, thanks to some very unwelcomed complications at the brewery. A bit later meaning: in the middle of the fucking night. But at least he can look forward to collapsing next to Tommy in bed in just a few minutes, pull him close, bury his nose in his hair. Get a drowsy, ‘fuck off, I’m trying to sleep here’ in response. Ignore it. Fall asleep with Tommy’s heartbeat right next to his.

This plan, however, is very soon to be ruined.

The moment he steps through the door to the Shelby’s house, he is met by Ada, who passes him on her way upstairs. She walks up to him slaps his shoulder.

”Good to see you Solomons.” The alcohol in her breath alone could probably ignite a fucking blow torch. “If you want to have Tommy back in one piece tonight, I suggest you go down to the Garrison.” Yeah. Of course. One week in London and Tommy has already managed to stir up some sort of trouble. Ridiculous idea, being in separate places just for efficiency. Now he remembers why they're barely doing that anymore, even for a few days at a time. 

”Bloody hell, can't even leave him alone for a few fucking days.” He rubs a hand over his face. "That boy's antics will be the death of me. What has he gotten himself into now? Please don't fucking tell me Kimber is involved somehow? Don't have the energy to shoot people tonight." 

“Oh, nothing like that. Just a good ol’ fashion drink-off that Esme somehow roped him into." Ada waves her hand sloppily. "Which he is going to lose, ‘cause I know it doesn’t seem like it, but he really can’t hold his liquor. Under that coat he weighs like a hundred pounds. And maybe it’s got something to do with being hit in the head a few too many times.”

If that ain’t the fucking truth, Alfie thinks. Ada keeps talking. Slurring, more like it. 

”Esme brought absinthe. Pretty sure it’s like… 70 percent. It’s very unexpected, but she can drink anyone under the table. I left before things got ugly.” 

Alfie pulls his coat back on, grabs his cane and hat, and is just about to walk out the door when he sees John pass by at the top of the stairs. Apparently, the whole bloody household is up.

“Johnny-boy, we’ve got to go and save our significant others from themselves. You coming?”

John backs up. “Wait, Esme isn’t home? I thought she’d gone to bed?” Alfie shakes his head. God, this fucking family…

....

“Oh good, you’re here,” Grace says the moment they walk through the door. The Garrison is empty. She tosses a key to John.

“You’re lucky your family pretty much owns this bar. Otherwise, you lot would’ve been banned long ago. You can lock up, I’m going home.” And with that, she’s out the door.

They find Esme and Tommy in the back room. Or, at first, they just find Esme, because Tommy is currently lying under one of the benches in the booth. Esme is cradling a half empty bottle of a bright green liquid in her hand and holding a monologue that Alfie can’t understand a word of. Tommy answers her in the same language, and Esme laughs.

“John, Alfie! Look Tommy, our men are here!” she exclaims when she sees them, words just barely coherent, and then breaks into another fit of laughter.

Tommy waves a hand from under the bench. “Hi men.” Then he looks up, cocks his head slightly as he tries to focus his gaze on something.

“Alfie! It’s you!”

John and Alfie look at each other, and share a rare moment of understanding.

“Yeah, well, unless you’ve got other men in your life…” Alfie walks up to the booth, crouches down and looks at his drunk partner. His beautiful, crazy, train-wreck of a partner. "That may pose a problem. Afraid I'm not too fond of sharing." 

“No, you know you’re the only man for me,” Tommy croons and reaches out a hand, sort of patting Alfie on the wrist in an attempted show of affection.

John grabs the bottle from Esme, who makes a disapproving face, and reads the label. “Absinthe. 89 percent.” He gives his wife a stern look. “Where do you get stuff like this from?”

“Oh, I’ve got connections,” Esme says and wriggles her eyebrows.

“How are you still upright?”

Esme huffs. “Please. Tommy is such a lightweight.”

Tommy makes a noise that could mean anything.

John sighs, but there is also this sort of proud look on his face. “Well I hope you enjoyed yourself. You won. And now we’re going home.”

Alfie is fighting a losing battle to keep Tommy's attention. 

“Hear that, love? How about we do the same? Feels like you’ve had enough for one night. Or, several fucking nights actually. ” He tugs lightly at Tommy’s hand in an attempt to make him come out from his spot under the bench. He’d rather not crawl in under the table to get him. “Let’s get you home and into bed.”

“You can take me to bed anytime, handsome,” Tommy smirks.

“Well, yeah, that’s what I’m trying to do here. Though considering the quality of that, maybe the floor is a fucking upgrade.”

John and Esme are already by the door.

“Hey, we’re going now. Lock up, will you?” John drops the key onto a table, before leading his giggling wife out the door.

Alfie just waves his hand dismissively, keeping his eyes on Tommy. Been a long time since he saw him quite this drunk. Alfie feels that maybe he should be angry with him, since dragging a so-drunk-he’s-barely-conscious Tommy home really wasn’t his plan for the night. But he can’t help himself: seeing the always so guarded Tommy Shelby like this, is pretty fucking endearing. 

“Now, love, not that I mind sitting here on the floor with you, but I’d much rather be in a bed, no matter how shitty. What do you say, eh?”

After considering it for a moment, Tommy apparently deems this an acceptable option.

He crawls out from under the bench, and with rather a lot of support from Alfie, manages to get to his feet. He sways and Alfie wraps an arm around his waist.

They make it out of the pub, and Alfie locks the door. The streets have mostly cleared out at this hour, with exception for a few poor sods who’ve simply collapsed in the gutter.

After about two minutes of trying to support Tommy’s increasingly dead weight against his side, as well as keeping him from tripping over his own feet, Alfie gives up.

He stops in his tracks and states out loud: “Fuck it. This ain't working out.”

Without waiting for some sort of response, Alfie wraps one arm around Tommy’s shoulders, hooking the other under his knees, and lifts him off the ground. Then he keeps walking. Much to his surprise, Tommy doesn’t protest, just lays his head against his shoulder.

“Thought you hated being carried? You never let me do this, not even in the bedroom. Fucking ridiculous, all these little ideas of yours. I ought to just do it anyway.”

And Tommy Shelby fucking giggles. Alfie sort of curses he’s the only one there to witness it, because like hell anyone will ever believe him.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret,” he whispers, rather loudly.

“I’m all ears, sweetie.”

“I’m actually… really, really drunk.”

Alfie nods. “You don’t say. Thought this was just a particularly good day.”

Tommy falls silent for a while, and Alfie almost thinks he’s fallen asleep when he pipes up.

“This is sort of nice,” he mutters. “I might let you do this some other time.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Alfie says. “Doubt that you’ll remember it tomorrow, though.”

“Sure I will.”

Tommy is rather unresponsive the rest of the short distance home, and Alfie manages to get them both inside by nudging the door handle down with his elbow. He needs to get Tommy to drink something, though, so he goes to the kitchen first and sits him down on the table. By some miracle, Tommy remains in sitting position for the few seconds it takes him to fill a cup with water, but then he has to wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him from falling backwards.

“Oi, Tommy.” he pats his cheek lightly to get his attention, and Tommy’s hazy eyes focus on him. “Drink this.” Alfie puts the cup to his mouth, not trusting him with any type of breakable objects.

Tommy drinks half of it.

“Can I wear your hat?” He then asks, but has already reached up and snatched it. Alfie lowers the cup, decides to indulge him for a moment. Then he realizes something.

“Where is your cap?”

Tommy furrows his brow, looks up at him from under the wide brim of his hat. “I don’t know. Maybe Esme took it.” Silence. “Or maybe I gave it to someone?”

“That was probably a shit idea.”

“Once, I dreamt that I gave my cap to a horse.” Tommy slurs, looking thoughtful. Then his eyes light up and he grasps Alfie’s shoulder. “Maybe that could be our new business!”

Alfie blinks. “What?”

“Making hats. For horses. You know, fuck the bookmaking, and fixing races and all that. Let’s just make horse-hats. It will be amazing.”

Alfie puts the cup to his mouth and tips it slightly; luckily Tommy drinks obediently.

“Sure, sweetie. First thing tomorrow, I’m shutting down the bakery and telling the boys to start making-“

“Horse-hats.”

“Yeah. Fucking horse-hats.” Alfie puts the cup in the sink, forgetting for a moment about Tommy’s predicament, and just barely manages to catch him around the waist before he falls backwards onto the table. They don’t need anything that’s going to make the expectedly hellish headache tomorrow worse.

Tommy wraps both arms around his shoulders and gives him one of those smiles that usually means trouble.

“You know what I’m thinking about?”

“Horse hats?”

Tommy furrows his brow, as if he’s never heard of such a thing before. Then the smile returns. He gives Alfie one of those sultry, half-lidded looks that always manages to drive him absolutely mad.

“I’m thinking about-“ his hands travel down over Alfie’s back, “The last time I was on this table-“ he spreads his thighs and pulls Alfie closer to him. “With you between my legs.” He kisses him, and Alfie indulges himself for just a moment and kisses him back. “We should do it again.” Tommy moans against his lips. “Now.”

The memory of that time already has all the blood rushing to his cock, so it takes absolutely all of Alfie’s willpower to break the kiss and take a step back. Tommy pouts. Fucking pouts. Then again, he always looks like he does. With those lips.

“Sorry sweetheart, not when you’re this drunk. You’re not right in the head,” Alfie says. “We’re going to bed. And we’re going to sleep, yeah? Can you walk?” Tommy gets off the table, clings to his side, but manages to stay on his feet.

“Since when did you become such an honourable man?” he mutters as Alfie leads him up the stairs.

“Only with you, love.”

“Wish you wouldn’t be.”

“Oh, I promise to be a lot less honourable tomorrow night, several times. If you can take it, with the hangover you’ll have.”

Tommy seems to be satisfied with this promise.

A few minutes later, they’re finally, finally in bed. Tommy apparently has forgotten all about what he wanted down in the kitchen, because he just curls up against him, laying his head against his chest, and closes his eyes. Alfie sighs, puts an arm around him.

There is silence, and Alife is certain Tommy has fallen asleep when he suddenly speaks again, quietly this time. Drowsily.

“Alfie, I’ve never told anyone this-“

Alfie hums, thinking this will either be another ‘I’m drunk’ confession, or a pitch for the horse-hats again.

“So it’s a secret and you can’t tell anyone.”

“’Course not, love.” He keeps his answers uncharacteristically short. Because he's fucking exhausted, and he's pretty sure Tommy can't keep up with any long speeches. 

Tommy pauses, and then says in a grave tone, “I’m actually really scared of the sea.”

Alfie chuckles quietly. “Is that so? How come.”

“You don’t know what’s in it. Could be these… large… fish… things.”

Large fish things. Quite the thing to hear from the usually so eloquent Tommy.

“Have you ever actually been to the sea?” he asks.

“Not really,” Tommy admits.

“Then how do you know you don’t like it?”

“I don’t like the thought of it.”

“I’ll take you there sometime. Show you that it’s nice. I promise to protect you from any potential ‘large fish-things’.”

“If you ever try to take me to the sea, I will divorce you.”

“We’re not married, love.”

Tommy straightens up a little. Rests his forearms on Alfie’s chest and looks down at him through those impossibly long eyelashes. Cocks his head and gives him this little, infatuated smile.

“Yeah, we are.”

Alfie chuckles, reaches out a hand and cups his face, running a thumb over his cheekbone. To hell with it, let him have this. “Sure, love. Sure, we are.” Then he pulls Tommy down and kisses him, just chastely, before tucking him against his side. Tommy buries his face in the crook of his neck. 

“Missed you when you were away,” he mumbles, just barely awake now. Alfie smiles at the confession. He knows Tommy misses him when he’s in London, but the man would never actually admit it sober. It’s not in his nature. But Alfie knows these things. Knows that Tommy misses him. Knows that he likes sleeping with Alfie’s arms wrapped around him. Knows that he likes to be kissed on the forehead, even though he calls Alfie a fucking sap when he does. Maybe that’s what makes this whole thing work. That he knows.

“I missed you too,” he says. And Tommy smiles against his neck.


End file.
